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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24145654">Breathe Again</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/muses_circle/pseuds/muses_circle'>muses_circle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>We All Fall series [18]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Acceptance, Alternate Universe, Anger, Angst and Tragedy, Bargaining, Denial, Depression, F/M, Five Stages of Grief, Love Found, Love Lost - Freeform, Post-Episode: s05e22 Swan Song</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:46:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,220</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24145654</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/muses_circle/pseuds/muses_circle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He who was living is now dead / We who were living are now dying / With a little patience - "The Waste Land", T.S. Eliot</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sam Winchester/Emma Boudreaux, Sam Winchester/Original Female Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>We All Fall series [18]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1059086</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. All That Glitters is Not Gold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>All characters related to Supernatural belongs to Kripke; the girl, however, is mine, as are all her flaws.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3>Denial. <em>2 months after Sam's death</em>
</h3><hr/><p><span class="u"></span><em>When tragedy strikes, the whole world seems to flip upside-down: light becomes dark, love burns in the fires of hell, and hope takes a vacation to Maui. Those left behind to suffer the torments of living begin to question whether one could continue. What’s the use of life when death takes away that which you value most?<br/><br/>Whether we like it or not, Life tramps ahead like foot soldiers marching for war, circling an invisible path towards infinity, and heedless of the train wreck it leaves in its wake. All we can do is choose to follow . . . or perish.</em><br/><br/>59 days, 18 hours, and 25 seconds . . . roughly 1386 hours since his feet trod the earth, since she last held him in her arms and made her goodbyes.<br/><br/>As much as she longed to take her last breath, Emma decided to live. Her mind forced her heart to accept the plain fact that he wasn’t coming back. It chose for all of them to fight the good fight, even if she and her soul didn’t want to.<br/><br/>All in the name of keeping a promise.<br/><br/>Emma looked away from her computer screen and rubbed her tired eyes. Leaning back in her kitchen chair, she pinched the bridge of her nose, attempting to fight off another headache. Try as she might, she couldn’t focus on work today; the very thing which had maintained her since Sam’s demise now merely distracted her from the dark thoughts pressing on her mind.<br/><br/>Nearly two months had passed since Sam had fallen into Lucifer’s cage, and his brother Dean had disappeared without saying more than a round of goodbyes to her and Bobby. Shouldn’t she focus on making sure Dean was okay? Even Bobby was concerned about him. Surely making contact with Dean was better than living in her self-imposed bomb shelter. Besides, it would be a little like having Sam around . . .<br/><br/>“Who are you kidding?” Emma whispered to herself and stood. Shutting the lid to her laptop, she moved to the large bay window, her favorite spot in the house. She sat on the plush window seat and hugged her legs to her chest.<br/><br/>Summer was in full swing, and despite the recent drought, her front yard looked alive with activity. From her spot, Emma saw a smattering of birds dart between the trees, no doubt foraging for food. The neighborhood squirrel was making its rounds, digging through her parched garden patch looking for something to munch on. Leafy branches fluttered in the breeze. Life surrounded her, no matter what else she wanted. Despite her profound melancholia, she felt the beginnings of a smile cross her lips.<br/><br/>However, it faded the moment she noticed the small black car parked across the street. Emma could make out someone sitting in the driver’s seat, but not their face.. Emma wondered how long the car had been there. With it sitting directly in front of her house, the driver would have gotten a good look into her house.<br/><br/>Emma committed the car’s appearance to memory, since it was hardly a unique vehicle. It looked old, or at the very least not cared for, and unfamiliar to her. It didn’t belong to any of her neighbors, she was certain. While the figure inside could be a friend of the couple across the street, he or she had made no effort to get out and go to their front door. What kind of friend didn’t announce his arrival?<br/><br/>Just then, the figure appeared to shift in the seat. It triggered a clear memory, and Emma felt her breath catch in her throat. Something about the way he moved – and she was suddenly sure it was a man –seemed so familiar. It might’ve been awhile since she’d last seen his face, but she would never forget the way he never got comfortable in a car. His long legs always got in the way . . .<br/><br/>Without thought, she jumped up and raced for the door. Sam. It’s Sam. Her entire being chanted the mantra while she yanked the door open and raced towards the car, the hint of a joyous smile forming.<br/><br/>Her single-mindedness interfered with her senses, and she didn’t hear the roar of the car’s engine. Instead, she stopped at the edge of her lawn just in time to watch it speed off down the road. Its occupant must have seen her move away from the window and decided to keep his identity a secret. Emma watched the black car grow smaller as it turned the corner and disappeared. Had she been more stealthy, she might have gotten the tag number, but part of her knew it was stolen and, therefore, untraceable.<br/><br/>A self-loathing laugh escaped from her. “I’m going mad,” she said and ran frustrated hands through her short, curling hair. “Time to get off this rollercoaster, Emma Boudreaux. Sam Winchester is dead.”<br/><br/>Wrapping her arms around her waist, Emma turned and trudged back through the front door. She willed the bitter tears to remain locked inside, but they spilled out onto her cheeks anyway. She prayed for healing and release from her train wreck of a life, but she suspected Life mocked her pain nonetheless. <em>Follow or perish, there is no other way.</em><br/><br/><em>No, Life, there was another way; you just stole him from me.</em><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><span class="u"></span></p><h3>Anger. <em>3 months after Sam's death</em>
</h3><hr/><p>“Can I get you something to drink, Em?” Jeremy asked, a soupy yet leering smile on his face.<br/><br/><em>Only Sam calls me that, ‘Jer’.</em> Emma bit back the angry retort and tried not to glare at him. “Sure,” she replied, plastering what she hoped was a friendly smile on her lips. Inside, she ground her teeth with annoyance at her ‘date’, a co-worker who’d seemed friendly enough until he’d asked her out on a date. Her refusal had turned him into a possessive pit-bull: he had hounded her steps, insisting on being ‘helpful’ but in reality causing more harm than good.<br/><br/>She’d only agreed to accompany him to the museum’s annual charity ball because she didn’t have a date. However, she regretted not punching him in the face the moment they’d walked through the front door. He lingered and found excuses to touch her in ways that suggested they were an item; she had managed to find another stalker, but this time she meant to do something about it.<br/><br/>Unfortunately, tonight was not the time. Despite her best efforts, she had been unsuccessful in shaking him off. If things were different . . .<br/><br/><em>No, don’t go there. You promised you wouldn’t.</em><br/><br/>Jeremy’s grin grew wider. “Got a preference, something special? I’ll get you anything you want, Em.” He spoke in an intimate tone and leaned closer to her. She fought the urge to ball her fist and clock him on the jaw.<br/><br/><em>Can you stop calling me that? Can Sam replace you with the snap of my fingers?</em> Instead she answered, “Surprise me.” She glanced down at her dress and smoothed her hands down the silken emerald material, pretending to play the part of the demur woman in the hopes of getting rid of Jeremy.<br/><br/>To her relief, he swiveled and disappeared into the sea of people, heading towards the refreshment bar on the other side of the ballroom.<br/><br/>Blowing out a frustrated breath, Emma took advantage of the separation and ducked behind a large pillar, away from the music and lights. Though the Winterley Hall’s elegantly lit room was filled with patrons and important guests, she preferred the relative peace in this convenient hiding spot.<br/><br/>Peace and quiet. Both were things she desired more than anything right now. Lose the stalkerish date, flee the room and leave behind the gut-wrenching romantic ambiance created by the combination of music and soft lighting. She accepted her life would continue without her best friend and lover, but the constant barrage of images evoked by this evening’s mood was beginning to take its toll.<br/><br/>Though she and Sam had never done anything involving a tux and tails, Emma was reminded of him with each song the small orchestra played, the way couples on the dance floor gazed at each other as they swayed with the rhythm.<em> I never got to find out if Sam could dance,</em> she thought wistfully, shutting her eyes and leaning back against the column to dream about swirling around the room with him, her floor-length emerald gown meshing with his black tux as their legs carried them into a world of their making.<br/><br/><em>Sam should be here,</em> she realized. <em>He would have been so proud of my accomplishments. I would have been proud to be on his arm, the envy of all ladies, and introduce him as the most handsome man in the world. All mine.</em><br/><br/>Despair clutched her in a tight grip. She should have viewed tonight as a triumph, personally and professionally. The new collection of Civil War artifacts she had organized was already showing signs of success, and her efforts tonight would raise a goodly amount of donations for the coming fiscal year. Her boss had already hinted at a large promotion – and several friends and patrons had praised her with accolades. The night was hers . . . and yet she found herself saddened that she only wanted to share it with the one person she couldn’t.<br/><br/>Emma took several deep, cleansing breaths to steady herself. Gradually the emotion subsided enough for her to put on a smile and pull herself from her hiding place. Three months since Sam’s death and she believed she was beginning to get back to living her life, even if it was situated on auto-pilot.<br/><br/>When she reached the edge of the dance floor, Emma experienced a sense of awareness tingle along her skin, not an altogether unpleasant sensation. It was as if someone was watching her movements with deep appreciation. She looked down at her arms covered with goose pimples and shut her eyes for a second. The impression lingered, pulsating ever stronger until she wanted to crawl out of her skin to escape the heat emanating towards her. How did the rest of the room not feel the heat?<br/><br/>Eyes wide, Emma scanned the room. The sea of people was so thick in places that she wondered whether she had imagined it. However, the shivers down her back intensified. She took a couple steps towards stage, where the orchestra played a heartfelt love song. It pierced the air, along with her shattered heart.<br/><br/>Filled with the emotion, she turned towards the stage. Standing just in front of the steps was a tall, lean gentleman wearing a tux and tails that fit him to a tee. He stood directly in her path, but his face was hidden from her; the constant stream of people floating past kept him blocked from full view. The quick glimpses she caught told her he was clean-shaven, with his hair combed out of his face. Undoubtedly he was handsome, since she caught a few female guests staring in his direction. Though she didn’t recognize the man, a voice in her mind screamed she should. In fact, he stood with an air of familiarity . . .<br/><br/>It wasn’t until he stuffed his hands into his pants pockets that Emma understood. The small, simple movement betrayed more than she could hope for: to find the most handsome man in the world, alive and standing in the same room, wearing a tux.<br/><br/>Emma cupped her mouth with her hand, unsure whether to laugh or cry. <em>If this is a dream, never let me wake.</em><br/><br/>As if complying with her prayer, Time slowed to a crawl when a brief second of clearing brought her a clear picture of his beloved face. Clear hazel-green eyes met hers, rendering her incapable of breathing. The rest of the world faded into obscurity; only the two of them existed. Emma wanted to reach out to him, run into his arms and remain there, but her body refused to cooperate. Her heart pounded a frantic beat when Sam’s lips upturned into a small smile.<br/><br/>Shock melted into tears. One slipped down her cheek. <em>Sam. Sam’s alive. Alive. Sam.</em><br/><br/>The moment was interrupted by thunderous applause. Emma snapped out of her reverie and glanced away to discover the source of the noise, but the music had started up again. Time had corrected itself, however, and when she looked back at Sam, she could not see him. Panicked over the thought of losing him, she pushed through the throng of people, twisting an uncertain path towards him, her eyes searching for contact. A couple of times her inattention made her bump into other guests, slowing her progress. After several apologies and an eternity of movement, Emma reached the place where Sam stood . . .<br/><br/>. . . and found it empty.<br/><br/>Desperate, Emma circled the area several times, scanning the crowd. She picked a path he might have taken and walked around, aware she appeared a little strange but unconcerned with anything besides finding Sam. She needed to find him. She had to. Otherwise she might start believing she was going insane.<br/><br/>After many minutes, though, Emma conceded the search and was moving towards her hiding place when Jeremy found her. He pushed a wine glass into her hand, looking perturbed.<br/><br/>“Where were you?” he complained a little too loudly. “I’ve looked everywhere.”<br/><br/><em>Going mad. You should try it sometime.</em> “Just making the rounds,” Emma lied with a casual shrug. “Part of the job.” She took a long drink and tried not to choke on the sicky sweet liquid in the flute. She hated sweet drinks; it figured Jeremy would think she enjoyed ‘girlie drinks’. Angry with herself and lonely, she vowed to kick Jeremy to the curb right then and there. Afterwards, she would hit up the bar for a large whiskey.<br/><br/>Maybe drinking enough alcohol would convince her that Sam was an illusion brought on by a broken heart. She wanted to kill the terrible longing to hear his voice and feel his arms surround her again, because that could never be. She hadn’t seen Sam; his ghost was merely haunting her. She would not succumb to the darkness that threatened to devour her.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Love I Cannot Carry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3>Bargaining. 4<em> months after Sam’s death</em>
</h3><hr/><p><span class="u"></span><em>Emma smoothed her hands along Sam’s broad shoulders and tilted her head to look at him. “Didn’t know you could dance,” she said with a smile.<br/><br/>Sam chuckled under his breath and squeezed her waist. “You’re looking at the extent of my dancing abilities, thanks to Sally Benton in ninth grade.”<br/><br/>“Let me guess,” Emma said with a laugh, “she asked you to the spring dance, and when you tried to say no by saying you couldn’t dance, she taught you?”<br/><br/>“Nope. I asked her to teach me how, especially when Dean informed me that he was going to the dance, too.”<br/><br/>Emma lifted an eyebrow. “Dean at a dance? I can’t see that happening, ever.”<br/><br/>“He was my chaperone,” Sam explained. “With Dad away on a hunt, I didn’t have a choice. Besides, I knew he would’ve tormented me for months for embarrassing him with my two left feet.”<br/><br/>Their bodies brushed together as he moved them across the floor. “And did your plan work?” she asked, ignoring her body’s intense reaction to being so close to him.<br/><br/>Sam shook his head and threw her a boyish grin. “Dean claimed that I danced like a girl and wouldn’t let that go. He still teases me about that.” His smile widened, dimpling his cheeks. Her insides turned into jelly with that heart-stopping look.<br/><br/>Immensely happy, Emma leaned her head against his chest and shut her eyes, enjoying the way Sam led them around the dance floor. His warmth enveloped her, with faint traces of his cologne tickling her nose with its spicy scents. She wanted to remain there forever.<br/><br/>She felt his lips kiss the inside of her wrist a couple times, as if he shared her thoughts. As if they were one, forever joined by the love they shared . . .</em><br/><br/>Emma’s eyes shot open to darkness. Breathing heavily, she brushed damp tendrils of hair out of her face to get her bearings. Strains of music lingered in the air, along with the scent of Sam’s after-shave. Her arms ached from the emptiness they now held, where only seconds ago, they’d touched and caressed his strong arms. Her hands had held his, but now they grasped for nothing. It was too real to be a mere dream . . .<br/><br/>And yet, Emma realized, she was alone in her bed, tucked safely in her home while the man she’d loved and lost would never know rest again. An inequitable trade for sacrificing his life. The impact of what he experienced slammed into her soul and sliced her open.<br/><br/>She hugged her knees to her chest and buried her face, letting the tears falls freely. The sobs sounded muffled against her comforter, a mere echo of the torment in her soul. <em>Why?</em> She pleaded to the God she hoped was up in the heavens somewhere, watching over her. <em>Why did you let Sam go to Hell? What had he done? Why did he have to die? Why?<br/><br/>Why couldn’t I have done something to save him?</em><br/><br/>Unable to control her gut-wrenching sobs, she didn’t know whether she received an answer. All she heard was the sounds of utter torment, guilt, and despair. She knew no peace, knew no resolution or future that included contentment. She had been holding her breath all this time, hoping for a miracle or another sign of Sam’s presence on the physical plane.<br/><br/><em>Time to let it go, Emma. Time to breathe again</em>, a voice whispered to her.<br/><br/>Through the sobs, Emma came to see there would be no breathing again. Just as sleep would elude her tonight, so would any kind of normal life.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><span class="u"></span></p><h3>Depression. 5<em>½ months after Sam’s death</em>
</h3><hr/><p>“Bobby, I think Sam is haunting me,” Emma said when the hunter answered his phone. She stood to the side of her bedroom window and watched for signs of his presence, but she already knew he was out there. Nothing and no one affected her like he did.<br/><br/>Every shadow behind a tree could have been him, but from what she could tell, Sam was not physically present in her front yard. Of course, what were the odds she was right? Emma had sensed Sam’s presence nearly every day for over a week, though she had never gotten close enough to verify whether her mind played tricks on her, or if he had – by some miracle – been raised from the dead.<br/><br/>Had it been the latter, Bobby would have found out and called, surely.<br/><br/>Emma blew out a breath, uncertain where this “Sam sense” originated. The best she could figure was maybe her grief had created some sort of spirit to haunt her, or worse, that some creature posing as Sam had caught her scent and was moving in for the kill. She just couldn’t shake the knowledge that Sam – or something wearing his face – shadowed her: the same figure from a distance, just out of reach, so by the time she closed the distance, it was gone.<br/><br/>“You sure of that?” Bobby said on the other end, his voice filled with doubt. “It’s unlikely he would appear as a spirit. He’s in Lucifer’s cage.”<br/><br/>She sighed and, drawing the curtains, shut her eyes. “I know,” she whispered. “I know, it’s crazy.”<br/><br/>“Then why do you think this is Sam?”<br/><br/>“Because . . . I sense his presence. Things haven’t been the same, not in quite awhile. It’s like he’s just out of my line of sight, and if I turn my head he’ll be standing there.”<br/><br/>“You sure this isn’t grief playing with your mind?”<br/><br/>Emma sat on the edge of her bed. If she was honest with herself, she knew she was still in the throes of mourning. Hearing that the man you loved had died at the hands of pure evil – hell, the <em>origin of evil</em> – and that his reward for saving the plant was an eternity of indescribable torment was more than she could handle. Even after four months, recalling the news about Sam’s fate brought fresh tears to her eyes.<br/><br/>Emma swiped a hand across her face, annoyed with herself. “More than likely,” she replied. “Most days it’s a struggle to focus on work, much less . . .” Her words died in her throat. Memory, for all its wonders, strangled her with loss.<br/><br/>The silence on the other end bespoke an acknowledgment of the emotion she and Bobby understood and shared. Sam’s actions had saved the world, but fractured the family he’d left behind. While Dean had moved in with Lisa Braden and her son to live a ‘normal’ life, and she and Bobby continued to hunt the odd monster, Emma suspected none of them would ever recover from the brunt of losing Sam.<br/><br/>She cleared her throat. “But there is a chance my mind isn’t playing tricks on me.”<br/><br/>“Any indication you’re dealing with a demon or shape shifter?”<br/><br/>“None. There’ve been no reports of weird murders or theft. I’ve revisited the places where I have caught glimpses of him, and I see no traces of sulfur residue.” Emma shook her head. “The only other alternative is a haunting.”<br/><br/>“And I’m guessing there hasn’t been any weird EMF readings, either,” Bobby said.<br/><br/>“Correct,” Emma replied. “I’m at a loss as to my next step.”<br/><br/>She heard the rustling of papers on the other end. After a moment, Bobby said, “Only other thing I can think of is a revenant, and you’re going to need some help tracking it.”<br/><br/>A tiny smile touched her lips. “It’s okay, Bobby,” she replied. “If you’ll help me with the lore, I think I can handle it.”<br/><br/>Thirty minutes later, Emma hung up the phone with a mountain of resources to keep her awake for the next week. After glancing at the list, she sat down at her computer and started searching her usual online haunts to order the materials. Maybe Sam was haunting her, and if that turned out to be the case, she needed to help him rest. Only that way would she have any hope of discovering a modicum of peace herself.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Straight Line Running</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3>Acceptance. <em>7½ months after Sam’s death</em>
</h3>
<hr/><p><span class="u"></span>Emma wasn’t one to fear the dark, but the short walk home from her bus stop seemed as frightening as something from <em>The Exorcist</em>. The night was black as pitch: the normally well-lit sidewalk harbored more shadows, all poised to leap out and strike at will. Her street never seemed more deadly.<br/>
<br/>
<em>‘Wait until dusk,’ Bobby said. ‘They like to come out at night,’ Bobby said. Bobby, you’re not a single white female.</em> Emma groused silently as she trudged along the sidewalk, each step taking her closer to her front door, to safety. She clutched at the strap slung across her torso, as if reassuring her that she had nothing to fear. When her fingers touched the handle of her silver knife hidden inside the folds of the strap, she relaxed just a little. She was safe; nothing was out to kill her. Considering she had done little in the way of tracking since Sam had died, it seemed silly that one of these almost-humans would dress up as Sam Winchester and haunt her steps . . . right?<br/>
<br/>
Her neighborhood seemed normal, despite her impression that the shadows loomed over her. Nevertheless, Emma did not let her guard down. Shape shifters and revenants could pose as anybody and appear out of nowhere, if her research proved correct. Touching her dagger again, she allowed her mind to wander to images of security, of happier times with Sam she’d refused to think of.<br/>
<br/>
One block from her house, Emma felt the prickle of awareness along her spine. Though she heard no steps, a voice inside insisted she was being followed. She pulled out her phone and pretended to answer it, speaking in a rushed manner, as if involved in an emergency situation. As she spoke, Emma picked up her pace and hurried towards home. Unfortunately, the impression of being followed grew stronger.<br/>
<br/>
Fear pumped with the adrenaline rush: what if this was a shifter? What if it overtook her? Would it kill her, or just take her face and ruin her life? Why hadn’t she taken Bobby up on his suggestion to help her? <em>Why am I so stupid sometimes?</em><br/>
<br/>
Emma saw her front door and took off in a full run towards it. Somehow, her hands managed to pocket her phone and fish out her keys at the same time. Once she unlocked the door and pushed inside, she pulled her knife out of its hiding place and whirled around to face the thing following her. Regardless of the outcome, she meant to go down swinging . . .<br/>
<br/>
The knife almost clattered to the floor when she saw Sam standing on the porch, a surprised look on his face and his hands in the air. He looked so much like <em>her Sam</em> that she nearly threw herself into his arms. However, she knew this was a lie. The <em>thing</em> standing outside her door wasn’t <em>him</em>.<br/>
<br/>
“Who…are you?” She tried to take a deep breath but found her lungs incapable of doing so. Considering the weight pressing against her chest, it was a wonder she could speak. As it was, her voice spoke barely above a shaky whisper.<br/>
<br/>
A faint smile appeared on ‘Sam’s’ face. An uncertain smile, which threw her for a loop. “Emma, it’s me,” it said simply.<br/>
<br/>
She shook her head in emphatic denial. “No, you’re . . . <em>Sam</em>’s dead. Now, who the hell are you? Why are you h-haunting m-me?”<br/>
<br/>
A flicker of surprise, followed by another strange emotion, crossed his features. “Emma, it’s <em>me.</em> Sam. I’ve been watching you because I needed to make sure you were okay.” It slowly put its hands down, like it was afraid of scaring her.<br/>
<br/>
<em>O-kay. It’s scared of me? It acts hurt that I don’t recognize it?</em> Emma cocked her head, confused. Shouldn’t this thing be shredding her to pieces at this point? At the very least, attempting to shove its way into her home? In fact, the figure stood in a non-threatening pose, as if expecting her to bolt any second now. More to the point, it acted like it didn’t want to frighten her.<br/>
<br/>
A myriad of emotions swirled inside, churning her stomach and mind until she croaked out a sound half of hopeful laughter, half of crushing despair. “Really? You expect me to believe shape shifters ‘watch out’ for others? That they aren’t into punishing a race they can never belong to?”<br/>
<br/>
The figure on the other side simply smiled, the half-smile of awareness and understanding, as if <em>he</em> had finally gotten the punch line to the whole silly situation.<br/>
<br/>
Emma scanned the face for any sign of compassion or sympathy, some human emotion that would convince her that this thing was telling the truth.<br/>
<br/>
What she found nearly knocked her off her feet: <em>love</em>.<br/>
<br/>
In those hazel-green eyes she knew better than anything else shone a deep love that nothing in hell and earth could destroy. She lifted her free hand to cup her mouth and hold in the cries of a hope she never thought to see fulfilled.<br/>
<br/>
A hand reached out and touched her hand holding the knife. “I’m not a shape shifter. Let me prove it.” Without warning, her hand jerked over to his free hand, the blade slicing a thin line into his palm. Emma watched with disbelieving eyes at the trickle of red form from the wound . . . and nothing else. None of the signs to prove a shape shifter or revenant was following her.<br/>
<br/>
Instead, it appeared as though Sam Winchester was back from the dead and standing in her doorway.<br/>
<br/>
Numbed from the overload of emotion, Emma looked back into his eyes, now filled with affectionate understanding. The man dwarfing her threshold was human, and alive. <em>My Sam is alive. Alive. Sam.</em><br/>
<br/>
Spots swirled in front of her; her head grew heavy with dizziness. Emma watched as Sam opened his mouth and spoke to her, but she couldn’t hear anything over the dull roar of her heartbeat. As Sam encircled her in a warm embrace, Emma heard a strange sobbing noise just before everything went black.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
When she came to, she was lying on her bed. Blinking her eyes several times, she tried to remember how she’d gotten there. Since she couldn’t remember walking down her hallway, someone must have brought her there. Emma sat up and looked around the room, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Sam on the opposite side of the room, sitting in her reading chair. With his long legs sprawled out onto the ottoman he looked at home—despite the fact that his feet dangled off the end.<br/>
<br/>
The memory of the revelation at her doorstep came flooding back to her in a rush. Emma put her hand to her head to calm herself. When she glanced at Sam again, he wore a look of consternation.<br/>
<br/>
“You okay?” he asked.<br/>
<br/>
She blinked, hardly allowing herself to believe this was real. “What happened?” she asked.<br/>
<br/>
An amused smile appeared on his lips. “You fainted. When you realized I was a real boy, your brain must’ve short-circuited your body.” His smile grew wider. “That’s a first for me.”<br/>
<br/>
Emma watched the dimples in his cheeks and bit back a giggle. “Don’t let it go to your head,” she joked, feeling like an adolescent talking with her school crush. “I’ve never done that before.”<br/>
<br/>
A comfortable moment passed between them, but then the room grew tense with significance. Emma swung her feet over to the floor and stood. “Sam, it’s really you?” Her question echoed in each uncertain step she took towards him. Part of her questioned whether she had lost her mind: surely, it reasoned, he was another illusion her fevered brain had cooked up. When she got to him and touched his cheek with her fingertips, that voice stopped speaking. What she felt was real.<br/>
<br/>
He breathed in slowly and reached for her. “Em, it’s me,” he repeated, guiding her to sit on the edge of the chair so she was at eye level. “I don’t know how, but I’m alive.”<br/>
<br/>
A hundred questions popped into her mind and threatened to spill out as Emma gazed at him. She wanted to know everything, even the horrors he would keep from her. Once they knew the questions to ask, they could uncover the answers together . . .<br/>
<br/>
However, right then wasn’t the time for such things, especially since she wanted to explode with the joy bubbling inside, filling her entire being with the wonders of having Sam there again. However long he intended to stay, she would make sure they made the most of it.<br/>
<br/>
On impulse, Emma leaned over and kissed him, communicating through action what words could never accurately portray. Based on the intensity of his response, the way he pulled her into his lap and held her there, Sam felt the same thing. They remained locked in each others’ arms for several moments, letting their kisses speak for them.<br/>
<br/>
<em>I’ve missed you.<br/>
<br/>
I love you.<br/>
<br/>
I’ll fix you.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So I might have been reading a little too much T.S. Eliot lately, because his poem "The Waste Land" reminds me so much of Sam Winchester's desire for redemption in a desolate, morally corrupt world. To an extent, Emma is also walking this lonely and empty road in this story. I encourage everyone to read this poem at some point in one's life. Not gonna lie, it'll make your brain seep out of your ears from all the allusions. However, the poem itself is rife with some of the most striking imagery I have ever seen.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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